The Evil, Giant, Bloodthirsy, Red Cow
by Dortilolma
Summary: Ever read The Tain Bo Cuailnge, welll if not you should. This is an off shoot story.


The Lost Ulster Tale

The Slaughter of the Evil, Giant, Bloodthirsty,1 Red Cow2

For many months the land had suffered the devastation caused by Bella, the giant bloodthirsty red cow. No one knew how or why the rampage started, though some did have an inkling it may have had something to do with farmer Tom… nuff said.

Anyways, after the devastation of Conchobor's favourite 'Teach Tábhairne'3 the king was distraught and decided something must be done. So… he built another.

When the new Teach Tábhairne was built Conchobor invited the lads to the opening. All the best were there: Cúchulainn the great, Fergus the mighty, Armargin the wise, Senca the skilful, Blai Briugh the… uh… cautious, Cormac the… uh… well you get the picture.

This was a merry night indeed, much mead4 was drunk, and many heads were paraded. Fires were ablaze and the roar of laughter and joy filled the night.

Cúchulainn grabbed many a woman by the breast and flung them over his shoulder, "bear me a son!" he would roar, and many a woman would look at him calmly and say, "Feck off. And stop grabbing my tit like that, ya shit." It was a joyous night indeed, for many a century poets would recite the grandeur and boisterousness experienced there, though of course the stumbling and vomiting would be politely excluded.

Later as the moon had settled, as had a great deal of the population Conchobor and his lads were still well awake, if not well sober.

"I'm bored." Cúchulainn whined, slamming his mug on the table, snapping it in two. The landlord winced.

Fergus chucked a random head at him, "Footy?" he suggested and expectant look on his face, well as expectant as could be expected through various galleons of mead.

Cúchulainn took the head in his hands and examined it for a moment, then said a very exaggerated, very slurred, "Naaaahh." And tossed the head at Conchobor.

The king attempted to catch the head, but it went flying over his head. He dropped his arms, and let the flop in front of him as if they were lead weights. He had a surprisingly placid and thoughtful look on his face as he attempted to examine his fingers. Suddenly his eyes brightened and he looked up at the drunken hoard, "Lets go tipping." He said

All the lads looked up at him, there expressions blank as this idea slowly seeped into their inebriated minds and was cautiously mulled over.

Blai Briugh seemed to be the first to actually comprehend the statement and his expression morphed into one of uncertainty, "I dunno Conco." He said looking up at his king, "Farmer Tom was pretty pissed last time, Bessie died, she was his favourite."

"Oh c'mon Blai, don't be a party pooper." Fergus slurred, "Sounds like great craic."

Blai Briugh was quiet for a moment, the eyes of his buddies all watching him expectantly. He scratched his chin purposefully then sighed, "Alright, lets do it."

There were wild whoops as the men jumped up, then loud crashes as the stumbled back down again.

Conchobor moaned as he rolled over in bed, "Good gods" he said to himself as the loud banging was both present in and outside his brain. He could here cries of joy and the voices of poets over a mass of noise that could have possibly been music, if it were all played together and weren't drowned out by off key voices singing along. Slowly he sat up, feeling as if he'd left his head on the pillow, he rubbed his temples and looked around. The lads were scattered about the floor, various concubines intertwined with various limbs. He tried hard to remember how he'd gotten home, or what had happened even. Then again he was struggling to remember what day it was, as it sounded like a festival outside, and to his recollection they were between festivals.

Suddenly a glaring light filled the dwelling. Conchobor hissed as he shielded his eyes.

"My lord!" a voice exclaimed.

Conchobor blinked through the brightness until the silhouette took shape. It was a druid.

"What?" he said, it was more of a grunt then a word. He could see the lads stirring and could hear them groaning as the hangovers made themselves clearly present. A few "What the feck's" could be discerned in the cave men like grunts.

"It's Bella my lord, the giant bloodthirsty red cow. She's been on another rampage."

Conchobor snapped to attention, "What?" this was clearly a word, in the form of a roar. "And there are celebrations going on." For a moment his hangover forgotten.

The young druid took a step back, he felt cheated having been tricked by the older druids to come wake the king after such an evening. He cleared his throat and continued, "You do not let me finish lord." He didn't stop to give the king time to complain, "She rampaged, then seems to have fallen dead my lord."

Vague images of the nights events came pouring back into the kings mind, he heard a few sniggers behind him, but ignored them and tried to look nonchalant. "Oh." He said, "That's good. You may return to the festivities."

The young druid did not need telling twice.

Conchobor turned back to the lads, "Did you rampage?"

More sniggers

The king groaned as the hangover reminded him it was visiting. He lay back down on the bed and tried very hard not to move.

Who would have thought, Bella the giant bloodthirsty red cow was dead. She'd been tipped.

1 Adjectives are required, the more the better, otherwise its just a big red cow.

2 I know, I know, you'd think it might be something interesting, like a man eating lion, or a rabid wolf, possibly even a mad dragon, but no, unfortunately due to the mundane wild life (the most vicious thing being a wild boar) of Ulster, it's a cow, a giant red blood thirsty cow (it just doesn't have the same ring as man eating lion)

3 Pub. We're trying to establish an Irish feel, so just deal with it.

4 The old pint… before Guinness


End file.
